The Stranger In Me

Chapter 1:Beneath the Manila Storm

Marie's Point of View

•••

Sir Kelvin watched me in silence from the backseat of his gleaming black Mercedes-Benz, his signature dark shades masking whatever storm brewed behind his eyes. He sat like a king surveying his domain, one arm stretched across the leather seat, while Mike, his ever-loyal chauffeur, kept his gaze fixed ahead.

Meanwhile, I pushed through the crowded market streets of Quiapo, Manila, my arms weighed down by bags of groceries that seemed to multiply with every step. The midday sun bore down mercilessly, scorching my skin as sweat trickled down my spine. Vendors shouted over one another, jeepneys honked endlessly, and the smell of street food mingled with exhaust fumes in the thick, humid air.

By the time I reached the car, my breath was uneven and my legs trembled beneath me.

"What took you so long?" Sir Kelvin's voice sliced through the air, cold and impatient.

I let out a small, tired chuckle, hoping-perhaps foolishly-that he was joking.

"Are you deaf?" he thundered, his tone sharp enough to draw the attention of passersby.

"I walked to get the groceries from different stores, sir," I replied, unable to hide the edge of sarcasm in my voice.

"You walked?" he echoed, tilting his head slightly. "Why didn't you fly?"

I said nothing more;there was no point. Words were wasted on a man who seemed to thrive on cruelty.

Instead, I moved to the open trunk and began arranging the groceries with deliberate care, ignoring the ache in my arms. For a brief moment, relief flickered within me when I saw Mike stepping out, ready to help.

"Sit down, Mike," Sir Kelvin ordered. "She's paid for her job."

The words hit harder than the heat ever could.

Rage surged through me-hot, fierce, and suffocating-but I swallowed it down. I had learned to do that well. I finished arranging everything slowly, each movement controlled, each breath measured.

The sky above Intramuros had begun to darken, heavy clouds gathering like a warning.

I turned toward the car, expecting-at the very least-a ride back.

"You're not riding with us," he said flatly. "Meet us at the office."

Before I could react, he tossed a few crumpled bills in my direction. They fluttered to the ground like discarded scraps.

The car door shut. The engine roared to life. And just like that, they were gone.

Then the rain came.

Not a gentle drizzle, but a relentless downpour that soaked me within seconds. I stood there, frozen, as the skies unleashed their fury. My clothes clung to my skin, my hair plastered to my face, and the groceries I had so carefully handled were now the least of my worries.

I tried to move, to find shelter, but something inside me broke first.

I sank to my knees on the wet pavement and I cried.

Not quiet tears-but deep, uncontrollable sobs that tore through me. Passersby slowed, some staring, others whispering, their umbrellas shielding them from both the rain and whatever pain they assumed I carried.

But they didn't know;they couldn't.

At thirty, I had imagined a different life. I was supposed to be soaring through the skies, a flight attendant traveling the world-not scrubbing floors, not raising someone else's children, not being treated like I was invisible.

The rain masked my tears, but it couldn't wash away the weight pressing against my chest.

Eventually, a taxi pulled over.

I forced myself up, wiping my face with trembling hands before stepping inside. The warmth of the cab felt foreign against my cold, drenched body.

As I lifted my gaze-my breath caught.

The driver's eyes met mine in the rearview mirror.

And in that instant, recognition struck like lightning.

---

Sir Kelvin's Point of View

•••

Watching her weave through the chaos of Quiapo Market stirred something in me I had spent years trying to bury.

She reminded me of Maya;my wife.The mother of my children.

Even her name-Marie-echoed too closely to Maya, as though fate had decided to mock me endlessly. Her petite frame, the determined way she walked, the quiet strength in her movements-it all felt too familiar.

Too painful Maya was gone.

And no matter how many days passed, that truth refused to settle.

Grief had become my shadow-constant, suffocating, inescapable. And somehow, I had twisted it into something darker. Watching Marie struggle... watching her endure... it distracted me. It gave me something else to focus on besides the emptiness Maya left behind.

Cruel? Perhaps.

But pain rarely makes room for kindness.

Yet there were moments-brief, unwelcome moments-when I saw Marie differently.

Like the day at Ninoy Aquino International Airport.

My daughter, Mia had nearly fallen from the rail walkway. I still remember the terror that gripped me as I searched for her-and then the sight of Marie running toward me, holding Abi safely in her arms.

I didn't thank her rather I accused her and I had her arrested.

Only later did the CCTV footage reveal the truth. She had saved my child.

And still... I said nothing.

A week later, she appeared at my company in Makati City, pleading for a job with nothing but her high school credentials and quiet desperation.

I recognized her immediately and hired her.Not out of kindness-but obligationor so I told myself.

Now, as she stood before my car, soaked in sweat and exhaustion, I asked the question I hadn't thought through.

"What took you so long?"

Her soft chuckle irritated me more than it should have.

"Are you deaf?" I snapped.

When she answered-sarcastic, defiant-it struck something deep within me.

Maya used to speak like that.

Sharp. Playful. Unafraid.

"You walked? Why didn't you fly?" I shot back, the words laced with something I couldn't quite name.

She said nothing after that.

Just walked away.

And somehow, her silence felt louder than any argument.

I watched her from behind my dark lenses as she loaded the groceries, her movements slower now, her breathing heavy. Mike noticed too-he always did-but I stopped him anyway.

I wanted her to feel it. The exhaustion,the weight,the unfairness.

Because somehow, in my broken mind, it balanced the scales of my own suffering.

When she finished and turned toward the car, I made my decision.

"You're not riding with us. Meet us at the office."

I tossed the money without looking at her face.

As we drove away, I caught a glimpse of her in the rearview mirror-small, alone, standing beneath a sky that was about to break.

The rain began moments later.Heavy and unforgiving.

I leaned back against the seat, closing my eyes.

The Mercedes-Benz was a gift I had bought for Maya on her fortieth birthday.She never got to ride in it.

And yet... I couldn't bring myself to let anyone else enjoy what was meant for her.

Not even someone who had saved my child.

Not even someone who reminded me of everything I had lost or everything I refused to face.